Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

“I’ll take you home,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost guttural. The sound of a cello in the orchestra pit, foreboding and grave. It means the main actor is in trouble.

Sutton’s hand tightens on me, and I realize what this is. Another one of their damn pissing matches. I’m not even sure it matters who I am—it could be anything they’re pulling between them. “I’ve got her,” he says, nice and quiet. Lethal in a different way.

“This wasn’t a date,” I whisper. “I’m not going home with either of you.”

Christopher looks away, his jaw ticking. “Of course. We can go to the office instead. You can give me the rundown of what you promised Mrs. Rosemont.”

I take a step back, stung. “We can do that tomorrow morning. And hopefully by then you’ll have cooled down enough not to speak to me like I’m a child.”

A dark gaze slides down my body. The emerald wrap dress suddenly feels like nothing. “You’re not a child, Harper. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

The man was saying a thousand things with the innuendo in his voice, none of it good. I’m struck speechless a moment, wondering how I got to this place. Wondering how I can say anything at all when my throat itches and burns like I might start crying—for a third time tonight.

It’s Sutton who steps forward. “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with you right now, but you’re going to walk away before I remind you how to speak to a woman.”

There’s nothing leashed about the violence in his voice. He’s about one second from punching his business partner in a public place, even if we’re mostly alone.

Mostly, except where’s Mrs. Rosemont? Is she seeing this?

“Let’s go,” I manage in a harsh mutter, though I’m not sure whether I’m talking to Sutton or Christopher. Maybe I’m only talking to myself. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Hell,” Christopher says softly. “I’m sorry, Harper.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I lie, because it does. There’s a hole in my heart that proves it does. “We can talk about the library tomorrow.”

He gives a hard shake of his head. “Not that. I’m sorry about the trust fund. I should have let you do whatever the fuck you wanted with it. I shouldn’t have let a dead man control you.”

There’s too much to take in, the fact that Christopher is maybe softening toward me after years of being a hard-ass. The fact that he called Daddy a dead man. Because it wasn’t Daddy controlling me, not really. It was Christopher, all along.

I take a step back, away from him. Away from Sutton.

I’m halfway ready to run down the velvet-covered aisle, to climb onstage and through the curtains. Into a fictional world that’s just as tragic as my own.

Christopher steps forward, fully in the light, and I realize that he’s more than soft. He’s drunk. That’s why he’s saying this. That’s why he’s being a man I don’t even know.

A man I wished existed for so long, it’s painful to see this parody of him now.

“Damn you,” I whisper.

It happens so fast. Christopher reaching for me, his eyes almost translucent. Showing me things I’ve always wanted to see, a longing so deep it reaches through my ribs and squeezes.

And then Sutton blocking him, a swift arm to keep me safe.

I can’t even tell who swings first, not really. A scream escapes me when I see Christopher’s head knocked back in a punch. Then he swings at Sutton. Soon they’re on the carpeted floor, rolling around, their black-and-white suits flying, their eyes fierce as animals.

It could have lasted an eternity, that fight.

Or maybe only a few seconds.

Other men come and tear them away. Dimly I recognize Blue as one of them, looking fierce. And another man, his face so hard-set he looks like stone.

There are tear tracks down my cheeks.

I notice them only when they feel cold in the theater air, the rest of my skin flushed. Finally the men calm enough that they are let loose, both of them panting and bloodied. “This is what we’ve come to,” I say, soundless so no one hears me.

This is what we’ve come to, because of money and sex. Maybe it was inevitable that I would make the same mistake as Mom, but twice as bad.

Two men to trample my dignity instead of one.